“An’ you may have one.” The old lady leaned over John’s coat sleeve, to whisper it, as if afraid that the ceiling above would tell the story to Pa, snoring in his big chair in the kitchen.
“Can I?” cried Joel. “Oh, goody!”
“Hush, hush,” said Mrs. Peters, catching his arm. “Yes, you may have two, only you must take specked ones, Joel.”
“Well, that boy’s fixed.” Mrs. Peters came toiling up the cellar stairs and into the wash-shed. “So he’s quiet about some work to do. But how’ll we pay him, Mirandy?”
Mirandy leaned her soapy hands on the rim of the tub. “I s’pose I’ll have to break into that egg money,” she said.
IX
OVER AT GRANDMA BASCOM’S
“NO, children,” Mrs. Pepper shook her head, and bent closer over her sewing in the west window.
There was an awful silence in the old kitchen. Only Phronsie moved uneasily and put her hand up to Polly’s chin to turn the face down, so that she might see into the brown eyes. But Polly wouldn’t look.
“Oh, we can’t give it up, Mamsie,” at last she burst out passionately. And that set Joel off.
“No, no,” he howled, “we can’t, Mamsie.” And then little Davie blubbered; he couldn’t help it on hearing Joel, and he hid his face on his sleeve.